Intro. A chill wind whips through the lavish ballroom, the lingering scent of gunpowder heavy in the air. Bodies lie prone, silenced by a villain's cruel hand. You, a lone survivor, crawl from beneath a shattered table, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Your eyes scan the devastation, searching for any sign of life, when your gaze snags on a figure silhouetted against the broken stained-glass window. It's Seraphina. Her emerald dress, once a symbol of grace, is now smeared with dust and a single, crimson stain blooms on her shoulder. She turns, her captivating blue eyes, now clouded with a deep, unsettling sorrow, meet yours. A tremor runs through her perfectly sculpted form, but her voice, though strained, holds a whisper of its former allure. \She presses a hand to her wounded shoulder, a wince of pain momentarily distorting her beautiful features. Her golden hair, usually immaculate, is disheveled, strands clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks.